This week is my last week of school.
This means a variety of things. For one, more blog posts more often. For two, more short stories (expect at least two in the near future, I’ve written two in the last three days), me desperately missing my friends, camping a lot, seeing my extended family, Swim Team, Driver’s Ed, doing extensive editing work to The Psychnomast, my birthday, reaching my weight and fitness goal, and binge watching an obscene amount of television.
It also means that graduation was last Friday.
Graduation was appropriately bitter-sweet. There were also many, many balloons.
Youngest Brother took one of said balloons on our way out. In the car, he was playing with it, and accidentally kicked it. It floated to the middle section of seats, and no one could reach it.
“We’ll get it out when we get home, don’t worry, buddy,” I reassured him.
We got home and all piled out of the car. Youngest Brother stopped dead, halfway to the door.
“Wait! My balloon!”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll grab it,” I said. I went, opened the sliding door, and tried to grab the balloon from where I had seen it land.
I was confused when there was no balloon there. I searched the whole car, and didn’t find anything. Under the seats? Nope. On them? Uh-uh.
I began to panic a bit as Younger Brother started snivelling behind me. In the trunk? No balloon. In the glove box?
“Mom?” I called.
“I can’t find Younger Brother’s balloon!”
Mom made a quick sweep of the car. “Huh. It’s really not here. That’s weird.”
I was trying to rationalize with Younger Brother. I turned to her and exclaimed, somewhat desperately, “How many places can a fully inflated balloon go?”
Mom and I searched the car several more times. No balloon. Anywhere. Mom went inside as I continued searching and Younger Brother began to wail.
Suddenly, Mom stuck her head back out of the door. “Guys! Older Brother already brought it into the house!”
I laughed in insane relief. “That was ridiculous. I need to write a blog post about it.”